[ns.fw warning under the cut. Just a quick little thing about Travis and the reader]
Travis’ brother warns him not to get involved with anyone until the family can work everything out. Half of their family are werewolves, for crying out loud; he can put the brakes on dating until they get everything sorted. It’s not like he’s been in any sort of hurry before now anyways….
And Travis hates that. Who is Chris to tell him what to do?? He wasn’t even seeing anyone, but it’s the principle of the matter. Besides, how long will this take to “clean up”? It’s been six years. Sometimes Travis worries they may never find the white wolf. It’s all well and good for Chris to say that; he has his family. He had a wife. And Travis is real sorry that she passed, but he did have that time with her. And he still has his kids. What does Travis have?
You’d been trying to flirt with him all summer, but the man had an Olympic-level ability to doubt intentions. Maybe he’d been reading you wrong. Maybe you weren’t actually interested. Maybe it was an elaborate prank.
[It wasn’t a prank. You were flirting with him. Blatantly. You signed his birthday card with an X. You made his favorite cake. You joked and giggled and laughed every time you saw him. You were dangerously close to stooping to begging…]
In the early hours of the morning after the camp slumber party, you find you can’t sleep. The kids won’t be up for hours still, but nothing you do helps you doze off. You’re bored; you decide to try something dumb. Quietly sneaking off to Chris’s office, you find his landline. There, scratched on a notepad beside it, is the number to the Sheriff’s office. You dial it.
Travis is drunk. Too much has been happening to him in July. First Chris tells him he should keep his life on hold indefinitely- and on his birthday!- and now, his mother refuses to use the cages he built specifically to keep his family safe. It was another night of not finding the white wolf, and another night pushing him further towards believing they never would. So alcohol was the solution.
He picks up the phone though, confused as to why you’re calling him. You don’t have a good excuse, but he’s too drunk to need one, really. You both talk. Liquid courage has Travis ready to find out if you’ve really been flirting with him. He tells you to come over. You steal borrow the camp van.
Travis is touch-starved and lonely. You find yourselves fucking in his office chair. He feeds off of your energy as you grind in his lap. The more worked up you get, the more excited he is. The harder you kiss him, the less he seems worried he’ll break you. Soon, the two of you are eagerly grabbing and touching, exchanging hungry kisses and needy moans. You grind down on him and he presses up into you. It’s everything you’ve wanted all summer.
You roll your hips and rock harder down against him and he groans. Beneath the two of you, his old chair squeaks. Frustrated with how restricted he is like this, he grabs you, standing as he hoists you onto his desk. He pulls you close and presses back into you. In this new position, he’s free to buck into you even harder, and you encourage him with eager pleas.
He’s too drunk and feeling too good to stop and think about things, and he comes in you without giving it much thought. Once he’s sober he’ll apologize, but you’ll tell him you don’t mind. Actually, you love it. You’d like to let him do it again sometime. As often as possible, really. And honestly, Travis wouldn’t mind getting to know you more. He’s tired of waiting for other’s permission to live his life.
